On the second day,
Yi Chen sat high upon a hill, with the dying embers of a bonfire beside him, and a young girl sleeping soundly.
The cold wind that swept by in the distance ruffled the hunched figures of the struggling monastery farmers.
Their faces were numb and lifeless.
Crawling out from their small and run-down thatched cottages, they began their labor.
Close beside the tenant farmers trailed numerous children who were nearly as tall as the wheels of a cart.
Clad in thin clothes, they shivered, stamping their feet and rubbing their hands together to stay warm.
Day after day, from dawn till dusk, their routine remained unchanged.
Perhaps when evening came, and the setting sun dipped below the horizon,
their foreheads were filled with the hues of twilight, while the evening breeze gently caressed the children's long hair.
Would today's toil allow them to eat their fill?
No, that's wrong.
This world is wrong!
